TROY KNEW BETTER THAN
to push the NFL coach aside and signal the play himself for everyone to see. Troy was a secret. The Falcons were winning, 17–13, but the Bears had the ball on the Falcons’ five-yard line, and there was time for one last play. If the Falcons’ defense held, the game would be over and the team’s run at the playoffs would be real.

“You’re sure?” the coach asked, pain in his eyes as the smoke from his breath drifted skyward in the cold Chicago air.

The Bears’ offense broke the huddle and started for the line. Seth Halloway, the Falcons’ star linebacker, waved his hands to Troy and the coach, frantic for a defensive play.

“Yes,”
Troy said impatiently. “They’re going to run the slant.”

He knew adults doubted twelve-year-olds, anyway. His calls had been good enough in the last three games for the Falcons to end a losing streak and beat the Raiders, Tampa Bay, and New Orleans. Troy stared hard into the defensive coordinator’s eyes until the older man blinked, turned, and signaled in Troy’s play.

Seth nodded at the signal and shouted the play to his defensive teammates, cupping his hands over his mouth. The center snapped the ball. The defense blitzed. The quarterback dropped and threw the slant.

Seth Halloway leaped in front of the receiver and snatched the ball, securing the Falcons’ fourth win in a row.

Troy jumped almost as high as Seth. So did every other player and coach on the Falcons’ sideline. The defensive coach hugged Troy. Players smacked his back and hooted with joy. Some of them called out his name, and Troy’s face burned with pride.

They knew him and they knew what he did.

Even though officially he was a ball boy, the players
knew
.

Troy saw Seth in the mayhem and grinned, but Seth didn’t grin back.

“Come quick,” Seth said, leading Troy by the arm and pushing through the crowd of NFL players and into the dark tunnel.

“Why?” Troy asked, searching Seth’s face. “Let’s celebrate!”

“That reporter, Peele, he saw you. We’ve got to get you out of here before he ruins everything.”

CHAPTER TWO

“
I’M A BALL BOY
,”
Troy said, reciting the line he’d been given by the team owner and coaches.

“He saw the defensive coordinator of an NFL team talking to a kid in a parka and a hat before every call was made,” Seth said, limping and looking over his shoulder. “But Peele doesn’t know
who
you are and he doesn’t know your mom works for the team, and we need to keep it that way.”

Troy’s mom appeared in the sea of shoulder pads, torn tape, grass-stained jerseys, and bloody knuckles. Her fingers clutched a clipboard tight enough to make them white. She threw a worried look at Troy. As part of the team’s public relations staff, she worked with the media all the time. If she thought the man after
Troy now would hurt them all if he could, Troy knew it to be true.

“That way,” she said, pointing down the opposite tunnel from where the players streamed, cheering and chanting on their way to the locker-room victory celebration. “Hurry. I’ll slow him down. Kenny Albert’s going to help us. Don’t worry, Troy. I’ll meet you at the airport, at the Delta desk.”

“Kenny Albert the TV announcer?” Troy asked. “I’m not going to the airport with the team?”

“You can’t ride the bus. We’ve got to keep a lid on this thing,” Seth said, swinging open a metal door with a bang and leading Troy through a room where red and blue cables lay snaked across the floor.

“But we’re not doing anything wrong,” Troy said.

“Sometimes that doesn’t matter,” Seth said, leading Troy out into an enormous garage where four huge tractor-trailers sprouting more cables stood in a row. “Sometimes if it
looks
wrong, it’s just as bad, especially with a newspaper reporter. Especially with Peele.”

As Troy and Seth dodged between the television trucks and their colorful spray of cables, several technicians patted Seth on the shoulder and said what a great game he played. Seth thanked them but never stopped moving toward the exit. Opening the metal door, he peered quickly out into the cold dusk, looking both ways before he grabbed Troy and hauled him out to a waiting
black Town Car. In front of the limo, a police car sat with the blue lights spinning silently atop its roof.

“What’s the cop car for?” Troy asked.

“Police escort to the airport,” Seth said. “For Kenny.”

Two men stood beside the Town Car, both hunched over against the cold Chicago twilight with their hands stuffed into the pockets of their dark overcoats. Troy recognized the dark-haired man from television.

“That’s Kenny Albert,” Troy said in a whisper to Seth.

“Yeah, he’s a friend.”

“Did he ever interview you?” Troy asked.

“Sure.”

“Hey, Seth,” Kenny said, stepping forward. “Great game. We had you for seventeen tackles, two sacks, and an interception. Looks like a run at the playoffs.”

The announcer signaled the other man, who climbed in and revved the engine.

“You okay with taking Troy?” Seth asked. “Brent Peele is looking for him. Things could get ugly.”

Kenny smiled at Troy, patting his shoulder, and said, “No problem. I told Tessa I’d help. She’s his mom, right? She’s great, and I owe you for giving me the inside scoop on that thing with Coach Krock. Whose business is it who rides in my car, anyway?”

“Uh,” Seth said, looking over his shoulder, “Kenny, just keep him down low. Tessa doesn’t want Peele to know he’s her son or to get a picture of him for the
paper or something. All Peele could see from the press box was a kid on the sideline talking to the coaches.”

“Hey, whatever you guys want is good,” Kenny said. “Here, I’ll get my garment bag, and if we need to I can even cover him up.”

Kenny popped open the deep trunk and hauled out his garment bag.

The sound of men shouting rose up from behind them. Seth spun and stepped in front of Troy, hiding him.

“Seth!” someone shouted. “Hey, Halloway! Seth Halloway!”

“It’s Peele,” Seth said in a hiss.

Troy looked around in sudden panic. He heard Peele approaching. There was just one place to go where the reporter wouldn’t see him. He dove into the trunk and curled up, signaling Kenny to close it. Kenny gave him a look of surprise, and Troy signaled the announcer to hurry. He watched Kenny’s hand grip the trunk’s edge and slam it shut.

The complete and sudden darkness sent a fresh surge of panic through Troy’s body, but a cry from outside the car, right next to Seth now, kept him from making a sound.

“Seth!” Peele shouted. “Hey! Halloway!”

“What?” Seth asked, his voice stiff and cold.

“So, what’s going on?” Peele said, breathless, but loud enough to hear through the trunk. “What are you
doing here? Where’s that kid I saw you talking to on the sideline?”

“What kid?” Seth said.

Silence followed before Peele said, “I’m not stupid. You’re running around the last four games like you know the other team’s plays, and then I notice some kid on the sideline in the coach’s ear and then you whisk him away. Who is he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Seth said. “I got a plane to catch.”

“Sure,” Peele said. “So, what’s in the trunk?”

BOOK: Football Champ

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